


Baggage

by Mikey (mikes_grrl)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, harlequin romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a lonely cab driver trying to straighten out his life since his brother left for college, and Castiel is the strange and otherworldly "escort" who snares his heart. Are daddy issues the only thing they have in common? Or is there something more to what is happening between them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baggage

**Author's Note:**

> For Karaokegal's [Come as You are Not Halloween Party](http://karaokegal.livejournal.com/685209.html), but I totally missed the deadline for finishing in time for the party. :( It seemed a shame to abandon the project when over 2/3 done, though, so here it is: AU! Really really AU! Not quite sure how "Harlequin" it is what with all the wanking and sex, but I tried to make it a romance-and-nothing-but-the-romance story, so hope it qualifies. Maybe? Well doesn't matter, I can just blame candesgirl for this one too. *grin* Just to point out, every location/street/place in this story is real. I don't know why I did that, maybe I was just feeling nostalgic for O-Town?

If there was anything good to be said for this miserable existence – and there was a lot to say, and Dean was happy to say it, but none of it was good – then it was only that it allowed for a lot of down time. He put Zepplin in the CD player set on repeat, thanking God for the newer model cars with the better stereos, and chilled out on stand. He ignored the other drivers most of the time anyway. He got along well enough with the Haitians and the Tunisians, but the native U.S. drivers who all thought they were in a fight to the death against "the foreigners" drove him nuts. Bobby, who was really Irish but denied it (just like Habib who was really Palestinian but claimed to be from Lebanon), was about his only friend in the fleet and that was pushing the matter. More like mentor, maybe, because Bobby had been driving cab for over 30 years and most of those years were right here at the theme park. So, they had shit to talk about, and sometimes it was about the Haitians but more usually about business and rarely about Dean's brother.

The park closed at 9 PM, and the rush always started right after the fireworks ended at 8:50 PM. The park overlords were nothing if not married to the time schedule, so Dean knew when to get there in order to be in the middle of the pack. Chances were better there to get a family going all the way back into Orlando, or at least International Drive, rather than one of the on-property hotels which were short, cheap, and money-losing fares. He ended up with group going to one of the mid-range hotels on I-Drive, a Midwestern example of the perfect American family with adorably blond children, a very hot MILF, and a husband who paid for everything in cash. Dean laughed at the kids' jokes and nodded in agreement with the father who complained about the high prices of the parks and did _not_ stare at the wife's chest, and ended up with a $10 tip on top of the fare which altogether covered gas for the night.

Renting a cab was no way to make it rich, but it could be good money if you were willing to work 18 hours a day and put up with a lot of bullshit, in between long stretches of waiting for a fare to show up onstand during slow times. Dean's bullshit tolerance level was never that high, but most rides lasted less than 20 minutes and for the chance at a decent tip, he could fake it. He had started out surly and quiet but Bobby set him to rights early about that: this was not lone ranger stuff, despite being by yourself in the car for hours on end. It was about the customer service, and people who spent thousands of dollars to "live the dream" for exactly four days and wanted a taxi driver who gave the kids lollypops.

Dean really, really hated his life.

After he dropped off the Norman Rockwell family from Hell, he decided to go up-market. The parks were closed, and normally he would cut out for the night and get some sleep before waking up at three in the morning to be onstand at the hotels for early-morning jet runs, which were always lucrative. But he was wired from the late coffee Bobby had forced on him after their usual meet up at the donut shop off Buena Vista Dr., and he knew through the grape vine (Julie in dispatch was stupid, but had a crush on him and was very, very talkative) that the Omni was holding a smaller but well-heeled business conference – lawyers or something, he could not remember. Men with money who would want to go out to late night steakhouses or strip joints and who would tip in excess of the actual fare once they were drunk enough. Dean knew how to tour those shmucks around, he knew all the door men at the clubs by name and the best places to pick up a decent hooker (girl or boy), so he expected to make some cash if he got onstand fast, before the night was too late and everyone already gone.

He timed it right and pulled up to the front almost immediately, as they were running through cabs as fast as they could fill them. He was second behind a van and watched as a large crowd of merry-making muckity-mucks stumbled out of the lobby, obviously having just stumbled out of the bar. The women were too skinny but flawless in that way only girl-lawyers could be, and the men all looked the same. Dean watched them with a boredom borne of experience, because after a while all passengers blurred together into a never-end conga line of holiday makers, living lives that were as exotic to Dean as animals in a zoo.

Something twigged and he looked away, and found himself caught. A solidly built man with dark hair and penetrating eyes was watching him, and he was not even trying to hide it. His expression was closed, though, almost thoughtful, and Dean glared at him on principle.

Their staring match was broken off by an older man walking up next to the dark-haired man. The older man was clearly part of the lawyer crowd, but the younger one, with his crumpled trench coat and cheaper suit screamed "bean counter" to Dean. There was something off about him, though, and Dean tried not to start staring again as the door man ushered Dean up to the stand and opened the door for the two men.

They got in and Dean managed a solid check-out of the bean-counter, who was probably a few years older than Dean himself but a level of pretty that did not usually walk out of the Omni into Dean's cab. If he had been ten years younger Dean would have pegged him for a hooker. As it was both guys were friendly and acting like business associates trying to be sneaky about the fact that they were planning to go get naughty. Dean wondered if they were going to go upscale or try for slumming. He hoped not slumming, because Parramore Ave. was dangerous no matter how well the drug dealers knew you.

"Where to?"

The older man looked up as if surprised that Dean could talk, and strike one. Dean was already considering where he could dump these chumps.

"The Ritz, please, and use the Bee Line, I'll know if you take the long way."

"Yes. Sir!" Dean snapped the meter on and put the pedal down, lurching the car into the road. He was going to lose his tip but the Ritz was a $35 fare anyway, he could afford to be an ass.

In the back, the older man snorted. "Don't think I won't remember that."

The younger man put his hand on the guy's thigh with a sigh, and Dean re-thought the "too old to sling it" theory. "Zack, we're going to the hotel. Try to keep the peace."

His voice was eerily calm and low, and while it did not seem to have any affect on Zack, Dean could see how this guy could pick up the expensive dates at the bar. He was _smooth_.

"I am."

"Of course."

There were some murmmerings and Dean stole a glance in the mirror, just to spite Zack, who obviously was the one with the money and the one doing the hiring and whom Dean already hated. He was lounging in the seat, his head tipped back, while the younger man sat next to him, his hand on his thigh, looking out the opposite window, talking so quietly that Dean could not hear him over the sounds of traffic. They were not exactly being subtle, even if they were not making out like twinks partying during Gay Days. Dean got a show once in a while, but his life was nothing like the "porn in a taxi" series everyone always joked with him about, and for once he was happy about that. Zack was an ugly fucker and Dean did not even want to imagine the pretty guy doing things to the arrogant bastard. Dean unsuccessfully tried to stop imagining those "things" in detail, as they might have played out if he had picked up the younger guy alone, which he reminded himself would NEVER happen since the gorgeous son of a bitch was a hooker. He shifted a bit to let up on the pressure in his jeans. When he flicked his eyes to the mirror again, he caught the younger guy staring straight back at him. Dean shifted again in his seat again and decided to keep his eyes on the road.

Zack was not much for car action, apparently, because the back seat stayed mostly quiet. When they pulled up to the Ritz-Carlton (Dean hated their driveway because it looked like a garden walk with all the foliage and brick and he always thought one day he was going to mow down some rich old biddy and get his ass sued) both men got out with practiced ease, as if they were the type of guys who rode in taxis more than they drove their own cars. Dean figured Zack probably was that kind of guy, while the younger one just played one on TV or something. Zack paid the fare, and what a surprise, did not include a tip. Dean figured that was a sign and rolled up the window to head home, when someone knocked on the glass.

"I would appreciate it if you would wait for me. I won't be long."

"Yeah, I bet." Dean snorted and the guy looked at him in confusion. "Never mind, buddy, do what you gotta do. Just wash your hands after and remember, meter's running." Dean started the meter again and drove off to park on stand. There was another cab already there and the Ritz did not like more than one up front at a time, but Dean had the doorman vouch for him and the driver shut up. He settled down to wait, trying not to think about the guy he was waiting on, and failing. He was a pro, just an unusual one, and Dean thought maybe he was a specialist. Dominatrixs and fetish providers were some of the most unremarkable, plain, and invisible people Dean had ever met; he knew one bear who was possibly in his 60s and looked like Willie Nelson and was paid $2000 an hour to piss on clients. It was impossible to tell, just by looking, and with that thought he decided maybe he really did not want to know.

\-------------

Thirty minutes later the guy was outside looking for him, and the doorman whistled for Dean to wake up and get to work.

His passenger slid into the back seat, tucking his trench coat around himself like a girl straightening a dress. "Thank you for waiting."

"Sure thing. Air freshener at no extra charge."

The man looked around the back seat. "It is a fine car."

"Where the hell are you from, Canada?"

"No."

"Okay then. Now, where to?"

"Palm Apartments, on Hiawassee just west of Colonial."

Dean knew the place, way the hell across town, and it was going to be a $40 trip no matter which way he went. "You got a preference on routes?"

"Whichever you think best?"

Dean pulled back out onto John Young Parkway and headed north, angling for the Bee Line back to I-4. This time of night, there wouldn't be any traffic worth avoiding.

"So spill; I know most of the independents who work the resorts, and you aren't one of 'em. Who are you working for?"

The bastard did not even blink. "Angel Escorts."

"Of course." Dean rolled his eyes. He had never heard of them, but escort services had the shelf life of tween pop stars so that was not much of a surprise. "Let me guess: your services are _heavenly_."

The man gave a smile so small, Dean almost missed it. "I suppose so."

Dean snorted.

"My name is Castiel."

"Dean."

"Pleasure to meet you, Dean. I'm sorry about Zachariah, he's…difficult sometimes."

"Yeah, lawyers. Uptight bunch."

Castiel nodded absently and looked out the window.

"He's a regular for you?"

No answer, and Dean yawned to show his own disinterest and turned the stereo on. He usually did not play music with customers in the car, because people could get weird about that, especially when it came to good rock and roll.

The drive up I-4 to Colonial (he could have taken the Expressway, but to hell with it, Mr. Mysterioso could pay for the extra two miles) and then on to Hiawassee was a blur of music and night time traffic. He lost track of the days of the week working the theme parks because every day was Saturday there, so Dean was a little surprised to figure out it was Friday night. Paradise Grill did Latin Night on Fridays, and there was no mistaking the tits and ass lined up outside the door to get in.

"Beautiful people," Castiel commented from the back with his same calm, inflectionless voice. As if he were at a museum looking at art on the walls.

"Fine as hell, is what you mean. And out for a good time."

He watched the man glance back and forth between the scenery and Dean, his expression thoughtful. "Are you out for a good time?"

Dean hit the brakes too hard at the stop light in front of them. "What the hell? Are you propositioning me? Look pal, even if I was interested – which I am NOT – I can't afford you. So back off. Home in five minutes."

The silence should have been heavier, but mostly it was on Dean's side. Castiel acted nonplussed and watched him drive.

"Okay, here. You can walk to your apartment." Dean stopped the car at the front office. It was a fairly small and older apartment complex, not like some out on Kirkman Road with 2000+ units, so it was hardly much of a punishment.

"Have you had dinner?" Castiel asked politely as he pulled cash out of his wallet.

"What's with you? I told you, not interested. I'm on duty, you're a customer, now pay me and get out. Or is that your line?"

"I have strawberry pie." Castiel leaned forward and gave him the most earnest and sincere look anyone over the age of five could give. Dean tried not to react to the idea of _pie for dinner_ which actually sounded pretty damn good.

"Back off."

Castiel cocked his head as if Dean were a fascinating curiosity. "I saw you watching us in the mirror."

"Just to make sure you kept your clothes on in my cab…and you know what, I don't have to explain anything to a whore. Now get out!"

Castiel frowned but slipped out of the car and Dean laid tracks for home, playing the stereo at top volume with the windows down. Castiel had looked at him with gorgeous liquid brown eyes and Dean did not want to admit to himself that if he didn't know the guy was gigolo, he would probably be sucking his cock right now. It had been way too long since Dean had gotten any action.

It was not, in fact, that Dean did not get offers. He got them almost every night, usually on a pick up from a hotel heading to a bar, or from a bar heading to a hotel. Men, women, boys, girls, they all thought hitting on the cab driver was unique and exciting. His first year, he took up a few propositions, but the third time someone offered to "pay the meter rate" he started turning them down wholesale. Bobby just laughed and mentioned that blow jobs do not pay the rent, and from that point on Dean was celibate inside the cab. He still went out drinking and pool sharking sometimes at the Bamboo Shack in Kissimmee, which got the low-rent tourists who were driving through in their RVs, so he scored when he wanted it, but _not in the cab_. Thing was, he was almost always in the cab, nearly 20 hours out of every day. He _slept_ in the fucking cab, and the way things were going, he was going to die of old age in the cab.

He finally got back to his house and set the alarm for five hours. Enough time to get some rest and still be onstand for a late morning jet run, if he was lucky. His usual routine was sandwich, shower, sheets, but he was thrown by the late double-run out of the Omni, and the strange hooker who _asked him on a date_. The invitation was pretty blatant, but still, it had been a long time since anyone asked him to dinner. Dean stood over the sink, mid-shave, staring at himself with the realization that he was not sure if anyone had ever asked him to dinner before. Usually it was the other way around; girls liked guys to make the first move, and Dean's version of queer was to grab the roundest ass of legal age in the club. It had always been about making the score and making it fast, not making it last – he spent most of his life taking care of his brother Sammy, first when their father was driving rig on the road all the time after their mother died, then after their father died when his truck went off a bridge. Dean worked at their uncle's garage when he got off from school, then came home to help Sam fix dinner and do his homework (although it was more just making sure he did it, because Dean finally dropped out in tenth grade to work full time, and did not know algebra from zebra). Later he took a night job at Independent Bar on Orange Avenue, bartending or bar-backing depending on the night, getting home in time to fix a bag lunch for Sam and grab a couple of hours sleep before heading to the garage. It was great practice for the sleep-deprivation routine of driving cab.

He forced himself to finish up and get to bed, but his mind was already off track and not going anywhere good. He thought about being invited to dinner, about letting someone else drive for once, of lounging in someone's bed until morning without worrying about missing a lucrative jet run, of lying back and letting blue eyes roam over him and take him. He wrapped his hand around his cock, which was far more awake than he was. He closed his eyes and frowned, not wanting to fantasize about some hooker with a freaky foreign name while he stroked himself, but he was not very successful at stopping his imagination or his hand. It was not as if the man was particularly exceptional, as good looking as he was, because like a low-rent Hollywood, Orlando was a town that beautiful people flocked to. Castiel wore his beauty the same way he wore his trench coat, though, taking it for granted and abusing it. That idea hurt, and Dean pretended it was only his dick twitching, nothing as girly as his heart, while he imagined Castiel between his knees, bowed over him as if praying, waiting to take Dean into his mouth. Dean arched up off the mattress, stroking brutally with tighter, faster strokes, using his other hand to shove a knuckle against that sensitive spot below his balls. He splayed his legs like the hooker he was dreaming about, groaning as he pushed his knuckle into soft skin, pumping his hips into his hand. He usually had no shame alone in his bedroom, but he was embarrassed tonight – not about the stroking or the noises, but the curl of jealousy that roiled in his blood when he thought about the hooker. His eyes snapped open when he came, his feet flat on the mattress and his hips and lower back completely suspended, his orgasm suffused with anger and frustration at _caring_ about anyone else. He did not want to care because loving anything or anyone was just so much crap baggage to carry through life.

He fell asleep exhausted and restless, hoping his brother had found something more to live for at Stanford Law School, and wondering again if he chose it over Duke because it was just that much further away from Dean.

\-----------------

Dean kept to the parks on purpose, because he preferred the constant turnover of passengers to having regulars. Bobby often adopted a family for the week they were in town, filling out his schedule with guaranteed fares and jet runs, so it was not often he was on stand waiting for a fare. Sometimes, though, a slow week gave Bobby extra time, so Wednesday night found them both leaning against the hood of Dean's car, onstand outside the themepark's "downtown" shopping complex. There were twenty cabs on stand, because the whole park was quiet and at 10pm, no one was making a pickup anywhere else. It happened like that sometimes, when conventions and family reunions and holidays all disappeared and the parks were as empty as they ever got – which was no where near empty, just not busy. Dean leaned with his arms folded, hip on the fender, as Bobby talked about the weather forecast for the next day, which was for rain and that meant more work for everybody.

"So get up early, get you a couple of jet runs, and then head out to the far park, there'll be some good runs from there to I-Drive, betcha. Even if not, rain will drive people into the cabs and…"

"I know, I know already. I've been doing this for eight years, remember?"

"Full time? No I didn't think so, so don't get uppity with me. You only been full time for what? A year? Since yer uncle's garage folded…"

"Temporarily closed due to divorce proceedings…"

"_Folded_, and don't think I'm an idjut, I know full well what…"

Dean blinked and stood up. Down at the front of the stand, six cabs ahead of him, a familiar mop of black hair was walking up to Ahmed's cab. Dean bit his tongue from calling out, because he'd get mobbed by the drivers ahead of him for soliciting a ride out of turn. Castiel must have seen him move, because he stopped and looked down the sidewalk. Waving Ahmed aside, he turned and walked towards Dean, and that was when Dean saw the john.

Tall, muscled, and trim, the guy with Castiel was nothing like the lawyer from the Omni, which only confirmed for Dean that Castiel was some sort of specialist. Dean gave a short nod to Bobby, who saw what happened and was already shuffling away to his van with a tip of his baseball cap before Dean could think of pawning Castiel off on him. As Castiel and his john got closer, Dean was really regretting the whole situation before it even started.

"Hello again." Dean went to open the back door automatically.

"Hello." Castiel tilted his head and smiled softly, so that Dean felt obligated to snarl back at him. The john got in first, and he was just as monied as Dean suspected, looking like a Brooks Brothers model. He gave Dean a dashing smile, and who had _dashing_ smiles anymore? It did not help that Dean's first crush had been for Errol Flynn, and this guy could have been Flynn's son (or great grand-son, whatever), he was just that beautiful. When he was in the cab, Dean rolled his eyes and sighed, finally looking at Castiel who seemed to be waiting for something.

Dean leaned closer. "So you gonna show him Heaven?" He smirked and walked off to get in the driver's seat without looking back, leaving the hooker to get in and close the door all by himself.

"Where to, boys?"

"Parliament House." The john grinned.

Dean glanced a look over at Castiel, who was so blank faced he might not have even been human right at that moment. The P-House was an international gay mecca, and there was no shame in anyone straight or gay going there to check out the drag shows at the hotel's bar and lounge. What went on in the hotel rooms out back, though, was infamous and often showcased on amateur porn sites and hardly the type of venue a high-class hooker would volunteer for. Dean reminded himself he didn't care, it was a $50 fare + tip to go all the way into town, and was a nice capper to a long, slow day.

As they pulled onto I-4, heading for Orlando proper, the john leaned forward and Dean saw a $100 bill flapped in his face. He glanced again at Castiel in the rear-view mirror, but his expression had turned to a mask as he was looked out the side window. Dean grabbed the cash and turned on the stereo. At least it was Yes' "Roundabout", he mused as he adjusted the volume. Castiel did not strike him as a Metallica kind of whore.

"Do it," the john said, just loud enough for Dean to hear him, which meant that this was some kind of kink for him – car, or cab, or being not-watched, or all of the above – and Dean braced himself to ignore some hard core fucking in the back seat. If he was lucky it would just be a blowjob.

He heard rustling in the back as Castiel shifted over into the middle of the seat, stripping off his trench coat. Dean tried to focus on traffic, but his eyes kept flicking to the rear view mirror, which was now taken up with Castiel's face. He was unbuttoning his pants, and Dean clued into what was going on at about the same instant Castiel started. The john wanted to _watch_: he was paying Castiel to jerk off in Dean's cab with Dean watching too. Dean clinched his jaw tried to look straight ahead.

But Castiel was good, he was a pro, and it was impossible to miss the breathy moans behind the music, the movement out of the corner of Dean's eye that was Castiel rolling his hips, running his hand up and down over his cock.

"Yeah, Jesus, you're beautiful. I'm gonna fuck you so hard, gonna…oh fuck do it." The john was already gasping for it, but not stroking himself…saving himself to bury into his hooker, Dean thought furiously and pressed the pedal down to pick up speed.

The next twenty minutes were like being tortured in Hell. Castiel strung it out, working himself up to a pounding frenzy and then backing off, grunting in his own enforced frustration, his head tipped back over the seat, exposing his throat and the sweat that was starting to run down his skin. The john was whispering excitedly the whole time as Castiel performed for him, and Dean hated the whole world as he pulled off I-4 onto Colonial, whipping through three yellow lights to get over to Orange Blossom Trail because now his cab smelled like sex and he was rock hard in his pants and he was thinking about how he could push the john out of the cab at 40 miles per hour and no $100 bill was worth _this_.

As he finally managed to turn on OBT, he glanced back just in time to see Castiel staring at the ceiling, his mouth open, a look of pure awe on his face as his body stuttered while he came. It was all Dean could do not to drive over the median. The rest of the three block trip was a total loss for Dean, he did not register anything of it, knowing that they made it to the hotel only when he pulled up out front and a twinky doorman swished over to open the door for Castiel. The john reached over and gave him three twenties for the trip, and Dean grabbed at them blindly. He was shoving the car into drive when he heard the window tapping at the passenger side. He rolled down the window so Castiel could lean it.

"Will you wait for me? I shouldn't be more than…"

"Fuck. NO." Dean gunned it and Castiel stepped back, surprised, as Dean burned rubber out of the drive, trying not to kill the group of gay Japanese businessmen who were walking drunkenly back to their tour bus.

\---------------

"What?" Dean snarled into microphone.

"You heard me. Special request. Cab 540 to the Outback."

"The Outback or THE Outback?" Dean growled into the mike, because dispatch never bothered to find out and he did not want to be at the wrong fucking restaurant for a customer who asked for him specifically. This was a guaranteed milk run with a high tip, and Dean was not about to let that airhead Julie fuck up his income for the day.

"Channel Three: which Outback?" He repeated, and he could almost see Julie checking her notes.

"Oh, uh, uh…uhm, THE Outback."

"Right. Got it. Cab 540 out." He figured it was 50/50 that she actually knew what she was talking about. The Outback on property was a four-star restaurant in the basement of the Wyndham and had nothing to with the faux-Australian food chain. Better class of customers, and much better money. Dean hoped she was right and aimed for the hotel.

He pulled in and smiled at the doorman, who nodded when he read the cab number and disappeared inside to get the fare. Dean tapped the steering wheel happily, hoping that he was getting some high rollers going from steak to tits, because if they went to a strip club they would probably just hire Dean for the night, and that was an easy $200+ in pocket for sitting around in a parking lot listening to the stereo for a few hours.

He groaned when Castiel walked out.

"What's tonight's entertainment? Oh that's right, that would be you." Dean growled as he started the car and began to go back up the driveway. The restaurant entrance was around the back of the hotel, so it was long drive just to get to the street out front.

"Wait."

Dean hit the brakes. "You want another cab?"

"No, I want to sit upfront."

Dean snorted but nodded. It was an unusual request, but there was no security reason not to let him sit in the passenger seat. Castiel got out and back in, settling his trench coat around his legs. Dean started the car again. "So. Home?"

"Yes, please. It has been a long day." Castiel looked out the windshield, glowering.

Dean just nodded. It had, in fact, been a long day, and this was going to be the $50 fare that ended it, which seemed to be the theme whenever Castiel showed up, Dean mused. They drove for a while in peace, until Castiel shifted slightly, turning to face Dean.

"My boss just fired me."

Dean raised his eyebrows, ignoring the flood of relief that nearly swamped him for _no reason whatsoever_. "I didn't think hookers could get fired."

"We can." Castiel nodded, tired. "He found out about the Parliament House…one of his boy toys saw me there."

Dean shrugged, not understanding why he was continuing the conversation as he really didn't care. Really. Did. Not. Care.

"You were on the clock, right? So?"

"We were supposed to go to the Hyatt."

"But if the john asks…"

"My boss demands strict adherence to the previously agreed upon arrangements our clients make. It is for our own safety, so that he knows where we are at all time." Castiel's voice was wooden, and Dean could tell that Castiel did not buy the excuse and did not agree with his job termination.

"I totally don't get you, dude."

"Mostly because you keep turning me down."

Dean blinked. "Hey! Not what I meant! And it was just the one time."

"So if I asked again, you might accept?" Castiel's expression was still tinged with annoyance, but Dean thought he imagined humor in the voice.

"Not sayin'."

Castiel nodded. "Would you join me for dinner?"

"Didn't you just finish dinner? At the Outback? THE Outback?"

"I was fired before the appetizers arrived." Castiel snapped, and Dean shrunk back a little.

"Nice. Okay, sure." Dean frowned at himself, wondering when his mouth disengaged from his brain, but it was done now. Castiel did not seem interested in suggesting a restaurant, so Dean headed all the way into town, but turned south on Colonial instead of north, and aimed for his usual late-night haunt just a few blocks down from downtown Orlando's main drag, Orange Avenue. Castiel said nothing the whole time, sitting in the seat with his hands on his knees like a school marm. He only raised he eyebrows when Dean turned in to the parking lot.

"IHOP?"

"My favorite. Good burgers, and breakfast 24 hours a day." He turned off the meter and turned towards Castiel. "The ride ends here. This is just…it's dinner, okay?"

"Then how will I get home?"

Dean smiled. "You could always call a cab."

\-----------------

The IHOP was one of the really old ones with the A-Frame architecture. It had been serving pancakes at the same location for almost 40 years, and the interior décor had not much changed over the course of time. The kitchen faced the front door with a pass-through for the food, and the cooks all gave Dean a wave as they walked in. After they were seated, Castiel studied the menu like he had never seen one before. Dean ordered his usual, and Castiel ended up asking for exactly whatever Dean was having.

"So your boss…"

"Zachariah."

"You boss Zachariah…wait, Zack? That asshole I picked you up with at the Omni? He wasn't a john?" Dean leaned forward, pointing at Castiel, who nodded.

"No. We were concluding some business arrangements with the owner of the hotel. I was…incentive." Castiel said it slowly, but gave Dean a blank look.

"You weren't working the clientele?"

"Hardly." Castiel looked genuinely confused. "Zack was arranging to have a suite on stand by for one of our more illustrious clients. The more high-profile hotels are, surprisingly, usually not as discrete. They do not have as much to lose. So arrangements were made."

"And you were the incentive for the owner to sign the deal." Dean frowned.

"Yes." Castiel tilted his head. "It is my job."

"So what did you do, pole dance?" Dean snapped and glared.

Castiel shrugged as if it were a totally legitimate question. "Nothing too different from what I did the other night in the back seat of your taxi. It seems to be a specialty of mine."

Dean squirmed, then distracted himself by waving his coffee cup around until someone came by with a full carafe for their table. He finally looked over to see Castiel studying him, his eyes questioning.

"You enjoyed it."

Dean hissed and leaned over the table, whispering. "Everyone likes porn, okay? Don't judge a guy for that."

Castiel looked surprised. "I wasn't."

"Good." Dean figured that closed the matter, but Castiel was looking at his water glass as if it were a great discussion topic. "What, you want me to tell you I didn't get turned on?"

Castiel blinked and focused on him again. "No, I prefer honesty. But I…it is of no consequence."

"I get it, that's your job, it's what you do." Dean threw down his napkin and crossed his arms. "I don't…I don't hire hookers, and I don't usually date them. Sorry if I'm having a hard time adjusting to this idea."

"We're dating?"

"What do you call this, Cas? A chat between friends?"

"I would call it a date." He nodded firmly, and Dean wondered if Castiel honestly thought the question was up for grabs.

"You…are very weird."

"Yes, I have been told so before. But Zack said that adds to my 'exotic' appeal."

"He did."

Castiel's chin jutted up and he narrowed his eyes. "Yes. He did."

"But he just fired you."

"May we talk about something else, please?" Castiel stared out the window.

"No, we _may_ not. Look, no offense, but you are not the normal class of hooker. I get that you are high end, but you sure as hell don't act like it. And asking the cab driver to dinner isn't going to get you points with the society pages. You got some kind of wacky story, and you requested me to pick you up, so spill."

Castiel looked at him with his face scrunched up, obviously considering Dean's comments. Then he collapsed, literally slumped down, all expression wiped off his face as his hands fell to his side.

"My father cast me out."

Dean blinked and tried not to laugh. "Dude, you're older than I am. So the fuck what?"

Castiel just looked at him forlornly.

"Wait, for real? Your father kicked you out and the only job you could find was high-class hooker?" Dean tries to keep his voice down, but he can tell from the looks being directed at them from the tables around them that he was not succeeding very well. Castiel sighed and looked heavenward.

"I was raised in a very…isolated environment. Father was…is…the leader of what most people would describe as a cult."

Dean could not stop himself from laughing. "No way!"

Castiel gave him a weary and sad look. "Yes, way," he said flatly, his entire demeanor resigned, and Dean felt like crap for acting like a dick. Not that he intended to apologize or anything.

"So I guess it was pretty easy to get on his bad side, huh?" Dean asked softly, trying to tread gently.

"Not very, actually. In the end it only took disobedience to his will." Castiel sipped his water, still not looking at Dean.

Dean was still trying to wrap his mind around the whole idea. "What the fuck did you do?"

Castiel shrugged. "I disobeyed. Does it matter what or why?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn't. Either it didn't matter, or it mattered too much – either way, Castiel had closed the door on the question. He retreated to the main issue. "Why hooking?"

"One does not need any degrees or references."

That was probably one of the most profound observations Dean had ever heard, and he stopped to think about that for a while. Their food was served and Castiel picked at it with disinterest.

"Same with me," he blurted out as Castiel finally got the nerve to _put ketchup on his fries_ which was clearly something he had to mentally gear up for after studying the ketchup bottle for a while.

"Same…?"

"No degrees or references. It's why I drive cab. I don't really…I don't have much else. I dropped out of high school in the 10th grade to take care of my younger brother. I can work on cars, but only older models. The new stuff with all the electronics…nah. I helped out at my uncle's garage for years, I kinda specialized on the collectibles, especially muscle cars, engine and body work. I was just starting to get a good reputation. But he closed it up once his wife filed for divorce. So I drive cab." Dean shrugged and stuffed his burger into his mouth.

Castiel chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed and took a sip of water before speaking again. "I have many skills – hunting, fighting, skinning animals and tanning their hides, making bows and arrows, living off the earth. But the simple things you take for granted, such as driving a car, are foreign to me."

Dean could not even imagine not being able to drive a car, so just shook his head. He hated thinking of Castiel fresh out of the survivalist family compound, in the big city, spreading his legs because he did not have anything else worth money. It was too _Midnight Cowboy_ for his tastes, and damnit, he was not Rizzo. He wondered who was, and decided to fish for it.

"Seems like a roundabout way to start hooking."

"I am very good at reading people. I know how to give them what they want most."

"Yeah I bet you do," Dean snapped, his stomach turning sour.

Castiel frowned and returned to his food. Dean kicked himself, because yes, he was eating dinner with a hooker, but a hooker who was a really nice guy and who was just trying to…well he wasn't sure what Castiel was trying to do. He had hopes, but then again, not really, because that would imply that he was interested. Which he wasn't.

He threw down his hamburger.

"What is wrong?" Castiel stared at Dean's discarded food, then his own.

"Why me? What is this?"

Castiel shrugged. "Am I allowed nothing for myself?"

Dean stared at the man across from him, who was from a protected world that might as well be light years away from his own life, and wondered at the desperation that would lead him to proposition a cab driver because he was the only person who wouldn't offer to pay Castiel by the hour. He leaned back in the booth, frowning, which Castiel obviously took as some form of questioning.

"Our family lives as a commune. Everything is shared and everyone contributes. We exist solely for each other. Nothing belongs to a person…I had nothing I could claim as _mine_, I did not even own the right to make my own choices. My food, my education, my bride, my clothes were decided for me. Now I see something – someone – I want for myself. Is that a crime here as well?"

Castiel's intense focus on Dean was hot and Dean had to fight not to squirm, because those blue eyes were like lasers looking at his soul.

"Fine, fine. I get that. Your own thing."

"I don't think you get it at all. You have no demands of me further than the desires we share." Castiel spoke casually, but Dean gave in to squirming. Castiel's social rules seemed pretty backwards, or actually non-existent, and Dean was not used to anyone being that forward except as a come on. Castiel kept talking, oblivious. "Zack pays for my apartment, my clothes, my food. I am utterly dependant on him. It is, in a way, not so very different from my life before my father cast me out…"

"Well that's it, then, now you're free!" Dean smiled, pleased with how the conversation was now going, but Castiel just looked confused.

"What you mean?"

"Didn't Zack just fire you?"

"Mmm. Yes. He did. I expect he will call tomorrow to hire me back."

"And just like that, you'll be blowing guys for money."

Castiel gave him a brutal glare. "If the practice offends you so much, you're welcome to leave."

"Not done with my food yet." Dean picked up his hamburger, took a huge bite, and mouthed it slowly in defiance. Castiel pretended to ignore him.

They sat in silence for the rest of the meal, Dean warring with his libido about inviting Castiel home, or accepting if Castiel invited him first. He wanted to, he really did, but for all of his careless and distant attitude, Dean felt like Castiel was making this into something important. Dean didn't want important, or meaningful, or life-changing, but part of him did not want to say no either. The battle raged while Castiel continued to pick at his fries and sip his water, as if food were something he did not really need nor enjoy.

When they left, Castiel stood on the sidewalk as Dean went towards the cab. "What?" Dean turned, keys in his hand.

"You said this was as far as I go tonight."

"And you believed me?"

Castiel stepped forward into Dean's personal space and scrutinized him. "Yes."

"Oh. 'Cause, I…" Dean didn't finish because Castiel was swallowing his words with his mouth, and Dean figured that the war with his libido had just ended in an uncontested surrender.

\-----------------

They ended up at Dean's place, which was off Corrine Dr and closer. It was an old concrete block shoe-box, built in the sixties but in decent shape, and the rent was cheap. Dean liked his space, needed a garage, and enjoyed playing his stereo loudly so a small, inconveniently located house worked better for him than any apartment complex on the West side of town.

Castiel did not say anything, and Dean didn't try to make small talk. They both knew where this was going, and Dean lead the way to his bed room with a grin. Castiel followed him without comment and stood inside the door, looking battered and stubborn, while Dean took off his leather jacket and sat down on the bed.

"Dude, you can take off the trench." Dean bent over and started removing his shoes.

Instead, Castiel walked over and planted a knee on the mattress in between Dean's legs, almost but not quite pressing into his groin. Instinctively Dean reached up and grabbed the lapels of the trench coat as he fell backwards, letting out a breathy groan he did not even know he had been holding back on. He pulled Castiel on top of him but Castiel held himself up on his hands, even as Dean kept tugging. He stared at Dean, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to memorize Dean's face, then bent down and kissed him.

It wasn't chaste nor sloppy, more solid than romantic. Castiel tilted his head and parted his lips to dart his tongue out, running it lightly between Dean's lips. It was perfect and hot and practiced. Dean stopped tugging and started pushing.

"Damnit." He squirmed up the bed to get out from under Castiel, who still had one foot planted on the floor.

"What?"

"Don't do that, man. Don't kiss me like I'm a customer. If you don't want to kiss, fine, we'll just fuck. But don't make me your job." Dean settled back on his elbows, looking down at Castiel. "Hell you haven't even taken your coat off."

Castiel sat up, braced on his knee and the other foot on the floor and dropped the trench coat. He tugged off his jacket and made fast work with his tie, then stopped. He stared intently at Dean. "Now may I kiss you?"

"Only if you want to. Sure as hell not going to pay you for it." Dean shrugged to show he did not care either way and looked off to the side. It hurt to think that Castiel was treating this like Dean was a john to play to, but he thought he should have expected it. The guy was used to doing the servicing, not…this. Thing. Whatever.

"Does that matter to you?" Castiel just stood there with his arms hanging down, looking at Dean as if he were at the zoo.

Dean shrugged again. His elbows went out as Castiel landed on top of him, murmuring into his ear. It was as if a switch had been thrown and all the hesitation was gone, replaced by Castiel rubbing up against him, undulating on top of Dean, kissing his neck and jaw.

"You are so beautiful, Dean. So genuine, so pure…"

Dean tipped his head back as Castiel's tongue swept over his neck. "Not…not really pure…feeling kinda sleazy right about now, actually…" He brought one leg up to wrap around Castiel's hips, and they started rolling together. "This…hey…fuck, gonna come in my pants, stop…" Dean grabbed Castiel's upper arms and pushed him back again. "Let's get the clothes off, okay?"

Castiel nodded once and bounced back, stripping like a pro. Which, Dean tried to remind himself, Castiel was. He was completely naked before Dean had shimmied out of his jeans, so Castiel leaned over and pulled the pants legs and practically ripped Dean's underwear off, then climbed back over him. He settled against Dean, chest to chest, and Dean took in a deep breath. It felt right holding Castiel like this, as if they were pieces of a jigsaw fitting together perfectly. There were only a few times in Dean's life that he would describe as "making love", where he matched up with his partner in ways that were beyond just physical. They were always fleeting encounters, relationships-that-might-have-been, but in the moments when Dean was _with_ that person it was perfect in a way his life never was otherwise. He felt that way now, as if everything was 'clicking' into place, and he tried desperately to tug his mind back to the action. It wasn't too difficult to do, since Castiel was a perpetual motion machine on top of him, pushing his hips against Dean's, rubbing their erect dicks together and sighing from the friction. He was quiet, and Dean remembered the dramatic moans Castiel had made when he jacked off in the cab – these noises were nothing like that. Castiel was _whimpering_ into Dean's skin, a wordless begging, and Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Castiel to lock them together.

They were both too ready for this, and Dean knew it was not going to involve any kind of finesse on either of their parts. He managed to duck his head until he found Castiel's mouth, and this time, the kissing was deep and wet, tongues sliding against each other to the rhythm of their thrusts.

Dean threw an arm out and grabbed the bottle of lube on the night stand, and somehow managed to get a palm-full without dropping it or Castiel. He reached down, shoving his hand between them, and quickly spread it over both of their cocks. Castiel bucked at the sensation of the cold liquid.

"Sorry, sorry…" Dean stroked him a few times in apology. Castiel looked down on him, his mouth broken with joy, smiling, his eyes blown out and happy. Dean smiled back, knowing he probably looked a little goofy. "You like that, hunh?"

"Yes, yes…I am usually the one who…"

"Don't. Don't say it. Forget about that, damnit, it's just us here." Dean yanked harshly on Castiel's cock a few times, and Castiel's head thunked down on his shoulder.

"Yes, Dean." Lips followed the answer, Castiel mouthing over his skin to his neck. Dean pulled his hand out and Castiel whined a little, but Dean gripped his ass and yanked him down. The lube made their dicks slide together, and the heat was almost unbearable. Castiel choked, and started thrusting harshly down. Dean spread his legs to bend his knees and set his heels on the mattress, and pushed up. Castiel landed on his lips again and Dean thought he was having the air sucked out of his lungs as they humped against each other, but it was his orgasm instead, and he accidentally head-butted Castiel as he jerked forward with the momentum.

"Fuck! Cas! Fuckfuckfuck!" Dean's hips pounded up against the solid mass of Castiel, his come flooding between them. Castiel threw his head back and gave a wrenching groan from deep in his chest as he topped out, coming with a single brutal thrust into the heat between them, then freezing up as his dick pulsed out.

Castiel slowly sank down on him, and Dean bent his knees further to carefully cradle his lover between his legs.

"Thank you."

"Yeah. Sure. What?" Dean gasped for air, trying to vacuum his brain back into his skull from where it leaked out his ears.

"For letting me take for myself."

Dean figured that was a pretty pathetic thing to have to thank someone for, so answered it with a long, slow, lingering kiss. Castiel fell asleep in the middle of it, and Dean just tipped him over so they were lying side by side, cuddled together, figuring they could clean up in the morning and the sheets were a dead loss anyway. For now, Castiel was his to take care of, and Dean tried not to notice how happy that made him.

\-----------------

Dean woke up alone and pouted, because what good was morning wood if there wasn't anyone there to do something with it? He knew Castiel was still around, as his clothes were pretty much where they had landed the night before. Dean was not very used to sleeping all the way through the night with someone in his bed, though, and wondered how the hell Castiel had got up without Dean knowing. He heard some movement from the front of the house, and figured everything was okay enough for now, so grabbed a quick shower. He put on his pajama bottoms and nothing else, since the time for modesty was long gone, and padded towards the kitchen to start a pot of coffee but stopped when he saw Castiel standing by the living room window, staring out into the yard. He was wearing Dean's bathrobe, the one he never used himself, and had his hands shoved in the pockets. Dean walked up and wrapped his arms around his waist.

"Good morning?"

"That is a beautiful car."

Dean stalled, because while he wasn't much of a romantic-morning-after kind of guy, at least he wasn't _that_ bad. Still, he appreciated Castiel's good taste. "Thanks. Mine. Rebuilt it myself."

"A 1967 Chevy Impala."

Dean thought he might have to rethink his definition of sexy talk, because Castiel's voice was deep and almost lusty as he looked at the car. Dean felt himself getting hard and pushed his semi-erect cock up against Castiel's ass. There were still a lot of things they had not done, and fucking was one of Dean's favorites, so he was hoping Castiel and his sexy-car-talk-voice might take a hint. Castiel turned around and rested his hands on Dean's hips, stopping him.

"If you can do that, why do you drive a taxi?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Because that doesn't pay the bills, man. I told you, cars today are all about the electronics, not nuts and bolts. And they're ugly. I like the older models, but not many people own them."

Castiel's eyebrow went up. "Zachariah owns twenty."

Dean jaw dropped, and bobbed like a fish for a moment before he recovered. "Twenty? Cars?"

"Collectables. His favorite is the '36 Talbot Lago." Castiel squinted, as if this fact was a mysterious conundrum he had spent many hours pondering. Meanwhile, all the car-talk was getting Dean hard.

"Really, I gotta tell you, that's some of the most goddamn sexiest talk anyone has ever used on me." Dean kissed him, hard, pulling him in, and Castiel gave a surprised snort but let himself be led. "You gotta be anywhere? Got any plans?" Dean whispered in between nibbling on Castiel's ear lobe. Castiel, for his part, had let his hands drop and affixed them to Dean's ass cheeks, palming them gently.

"No. I'm still fired for now, and I find that I…have…other arrangements."

Dean nodded and scuttled backwards, dragging Castiel with him until they landed on his beat up couch. "Good, 'cause I don't feel like sharing."

"Mmm." Castiel nodded, grabbed Dean's face, and yanked him closer for a long, thorough kiss. Castiel finally broke it and petted Dean's cheek, which totally made him feel like the girl, here, but it was still very nice so he didn't want him to stop. Castiel stared at him, and Dean was figuring out that this was the 'looking before I leap' expression. "I want to feel you, I want to be inside you."

Bingo. Dean drew in a deep breath, and Castiel frowned.

"Have you never…? I thought…" Castiel stopped, clearly unable to finish the sentence, his nose and ears going pink.

"No no no, I have. I mean, yeah, I usually, uh, do it the other way. But I've…done it that way."

Castiel continued to frown, and Dean had to admit that his answer could have been a bit more, well, _more_. He did not want to explain that bottoming was something he only did when long-term lovers, of which he had exactly two in his long list of sexual partners, and only as long as you defined "long term" as "more than one month". He owned a dildo he played with sometimes, but the experience of getting fucked was really intense for him and he hated giving that much of himself away to someone whose name he would not remember in a year.

"You really want to?"

"Not if you would find it unpleasant." Castiel's voice was a little too remote for Dean's liking.

"That's not a fucking answer."

Castiel starting kissing his neck. "We don't need to."

"But you want to."

Castiel stopped, his lips pressed to Dean's skin. "Yes. I do." He started kissing again, and Dean let him, lying on his back and thinking about it.

"I usually don't."

"So I gathered. It is of no importance."

"Yeah, it is. You want to fuck me, so yeah, that's important." Dean's brain scrambled frantically at the idea of Castiel on top of him, pushing into him, _taking_ him. It was both pornographic and terrifying, too close to home.

Castiel kissed him, surprising him out of his reverie. It was a slow, methodical kiss, and Dean know that Castiel was just trying to distract him. He pushed at Castiel's face to move him back so they could talk.

"Is this a deal breaker?"

"What?"

"If I say no, are you going leave? All or nothing?"

"I don't lay down those kinds of laws, Dean. I am not my Father; if you say no, then we will simply do something else." Castiel looked down on him with his eyes darkened in arousal, and wet. "In any case, I am used to…restrictions." Castiel chewed at his bottom lip, and Dean cursed.

"Look, really, no rules here, okay? I'm not trying to hold you back or anything, I just…maybe later."

Castiel smiled. "That is more of a promise than I have a right to expect." He reached out and grabbed Dean's upper arm, pulling him off the couch and manhandling him down the hall to the bedroom. Dean thought Castiel's hand was so hot it would brand him, but he laughed.

"Hey, hey, what did I just say about not yet?"

Castiel turned and pulled their bodies together face to face, their noses nearly touching. "That you would, maybe, later."

"Right, so, uh…"

Castiel leaned forward and nuzzled at Dean's ear. "Take me."

Dean bent his head to bite down on Castiel's neck, his hard on back with a vengeance. It was a cheesy thing for Castiel to say, but his voice did things to Dean's libido that he suspected where unholy, and he wrapped his arms around Castiel to pull him closer. "I can do that," he whispered back.

\------------------

Something about Castiel made Dean feel that one of them was a virgin, and he wasn't even sure which one. Castiel tripped trying to strip off the robe, Dean head-butted him (again) when he pulled Castiel onto the bed, and then nearly dropped the lube. He sat back on his heels for a moment, trying to collect himself before either or both of them got injured.

Castiel was spread out in front of him, legs wide, his body relaxed. He was smiling, and holding his cock with both hands, stroking the head with the flat of his palm. Dean considered for a moment if Castiel did it like this with his clients, but a fiery burn ran down his spine at the thought so he pushed it away. He was over-protective and jealous by nature of everything that was his, from his car to his baby brother, and somehow Castiel already slotted into that list right near the top: _mine, my lover, for me. _

He lubed up his fingers and scooted forward, Castiel tilting his hips and bending his knees in well-practiced welcome. Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Don't make this too easy."

When he opened his eyes Castiel was still smiling at him. "Are you in competition with my clients, or jealous of them?"

"Cas…" Dean dropped his voice in warning.

"You are doing this for me, not the other way around, Dean. You have no competition."

Dean grinned, because of all the stupid things to day, that was the dumbest, and the saddest, and it made him happier than he wanted to think about. Castiel was his simply because Castiel wanted him.

It was an easy matter to open him up, something else that Dean refused to think about. He pressed his fingers in slowly at first but soon had three plunging in and out of Castiel's body. Castiel was squirming on the bed, mostly quiet again except for breathy moans he'd let out when Dean twisted or scissored. Dean wanted to drive their demons out of his bed, though, so he leaned up and pressed in hard, making Castiel gasp.

"Dean!"

"You like that, hunh?" Dean grinned.

"Please, I am ready, I'm ready, please, I'm ready…" Castiel clawed at his arms.

"No, not yet…" Dean closed his eyes and concentrated, pushing his fingers in again, until Castiel touched his face.

"Dean…stop."

Dean froze. "Shit, am I hurting you?"

"No, you are simply looking for something that isn't there."

Dean blinked, unsure of how to process the two halves of that sentence. "Dude, every guy has got a prostate. It's kind of part of being a guy." He shifted his fingers gently, the warm, hot heat of Castiel wrapped around him zinging down to his neglected cock.

"I do have one. I just don't…it doesn't work that way for me. It is over-sensitized; stimulation there makes me uncomfortable."

"Oh." Dean pulled his fingers out a little. "I, uh, well, I knew some guys are like that, I just…"

"Dean, please…"

"Shoulda known you wouldn't be like other guys. Okay, okay, hold on." Dean slipped his fingers out, trying to hide his disappointment. It was a ridiculous thing to be disappointed about, but he felt the same way when he couldn't get a girl off, as if he had not managed to live up to expectations – and Dean hated letting anyone down. Although he thought he should be used to it by now.

"Dean, it isn't you. It is just physically uncomfortable for me." Castiel seemed to read his mood, and sat up a little to continue petting his face as Dean slipped on a condom and lubed up his cock, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Sure, I get it. No problem. Look, I've got other ways of making you feel good." Dean held his dick and gave Castiel a leering grin, just to chase off the change of mood. Castiel eyed him critically, obviously not buying Dean's false cheer, but he nodded and lay down again, spreading his legs wider.

"Please," Castiel whispered, and Dean's bravado fled as he leaned forward.

"Jesus, Cas, you're so goddamn beautiful. I'm going to make you feel so good, baby, so fucking good, you'll see Heaven, I swear to God…" Dean whispered inanely, not caring how it sounded, rolling his hips and using his fingers to guide his cock. The first breech needed a hard push, but Castiel let out a long groan and opened for Dean, who slid in slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. "Damnit, damnit, you are so hot, so damn hot…" Dean whispered the words between gritted teeth, trying not to come. Castiel was finally beyond words, pushing his hips up and shifting his legs over Dean's shoulders.

"Like this? You okay?" Dean managed ask, rubbing Castiel's legs. Castiel just nodded with a blown-out look in his eyes, and Dean finally grinned for real. "Damn straight. Oh hell yes, lets do this…" He shoved in with a groan and began pumping his hips gently at first, then harder, his hands on Castiel's shoulders holding him down as Castiel's legs pressed into Dean's shoulders, holding him up. Dean gave a few particularly brutal thrusts with his eyes closed, feeling his orgasm start to pool in his belly, but when he opened his eyes he froze, and everything good feeling came crashing down.

"Fuck! Damnit!" He pulled out. Castiel's face was blank with discomfort. Dean threw his legs off his shoulders. "What the FUCK?"

"Dean…please…" Castiel gasped, reaching for him.

"No! No way in hell! You were in _pain_, Cas." Dean sat on his heels, his cock bobbing between them.

"Just for a moment. You were…your angle was rubbing over…" He blushed.

"Fuck!" Dean spat out. "You sonofabitch, don't you know you're supposed to _tell me_ when that happens?"

Castiel just stared at him, looking crushed, and Dean realized that the sonofabitch did _not_ know he was supposed to tell him. Dean felt his anger boiling. "How many of your johns hurt you like this?"

Castiel turned his head deliberately, going stubborn. "I do not wish to discuss that in our bed."

The phrase 'our bed' clicked with Dean as something important to remember, but he stashed it for later. He shook his head. "Okay, fair is fair. But damnit, you tell me. You tell _me_ when it isn't feeling fucking awesome, okay?" Dean ran his non-lubed hand through his hair while Castiel sat up and began stroking Dean's softening cock.

"I will."

Castiel's voice vibrated down to Dean's dick, stiffening it up in Castiel's hand. Dean put his hands on his hips and glared at him.

"This isn't going any further than hand jobs if you don't give me your word, Cas."

"Dean. I promise. For you, I promise. Please…you felt good inside of me, I need you…"

Dean sighed and leaned forward again, every move slow and measured. Castiel was gazing on him with something close to adoration, which was weird as Dean just hurt the guy by fucking him, but it was what Castiel wanted, so they resumed their positions and Dean sank back into the incredible heat, letting it envelope him. This time, as he slowly fucked Castiel into the mattress, he kept his eyes open and watched every last twitch Castiel made, changing his angle each time he looked pained or started to freeze up. Soon he managed to find an angle that seemed perfect for Castiel, who lifted his hips to meet him and clutched at the sheets.

"Dean, oh…oh, dear Lord, please, that…I'm…"

Dean knew a man on the edge when he saw one gasping and writhing under him, so he moved a hand to give Castiel's cock a few short, hard pulls and Castiel bucked and came with an incoherent shout, his legs shaking against Dean's chest and shoulders. Dean let out a worried breath of "finally" and allowed himself to come, thrusting at his carefully placed angle as deeply as he could until his orgasm washed over him like a warm, restrained wave of pleasure. He settled Castiel's legs back down and disposed of the condom before laying down, roughly pulling Castiel to him.

"You held yourself back." Castiel spoke to his chest, obviously too spent to move.

"I am not going to hurt you, I'll be damned first." Dean squeezed Castiel for good measure.

"No, I don't think so. Despite what my Father may say, I think a good and righteous man is one who gives more than he takes." Castiel yawned and Dean realized the man was out of it, rambling his words. "How we love is more important than who…"

Castiel fell asleep while the word 'love' buzzed around in Dean's brain, annoying as shit and keeping him from dozing off into his well-earned mid-morning nap. Instead he just stared at the ceiling, holding Castiel in a firm embrace and trying not to get his hopes up.

\-------------------

They laid in bed most of the first day and night, exchanging blow jobs and hand jobs and long, intense kisses, but Dean refused to fuck Castiel again. Castiel shrugged as if it was not important but every smile he gave Dean was radiant, and the blowjobs almost worshipful. Dean figured they would probably would fuck again at some point, and he looked forward to it, but he was willing to go slow and figure out what Castiel really enjoyed first. In the meantime, he was getting more action than he had gotten over the past year, so he was hardly going to _complain_. Anyway, Castiel swallowed. Dean forgive a lot for that.

On the second morning, Dean took Castiel out to the garage where he was painstakingly working on a 1968 Pontiac GTO. He wore his work jeans and a battered old tee-shirt, and planned on finishing the rear passenger fender. It was mostly body work at this stage, which Dean took a perverse pride in, because this was where it all came together and started looking like a _car_ again.

Castiel hmmm'd appreciatively and stood around in Dean's pajamas, sipping his coffee, watching Dean work. It should have freaked him out, he thought, but it really didn't. It felt good to have someone _there_, watching him, caring about what he was working on. It had been a long time.

"You are very meticulous."

"No reason not to be. I plan on selling this baby when she's put together, be a nice little supplement to my income. I'm just glad I got my tools out of the garage before Don locked the doors." In fact, Don had shoved the best sets of tools on Dean, declaring that he wanted a real mechanic to have them before his ex-wife tried to sell off the inventory, so in truth a good sixty percent of the tools did not start out as Dean's. They were his now, though, and he took care of them.

Castiel watched him for a while before speaking again. "One of the first things I ever remember learning was to shoot a bow and arrow."

After only 48 hours, Dean was used to the weird turns in topic Castiel would come up with. It was almost as if he did not know how to hold a regular conversation with normal humans, and would spit out the strangest stories just to fill the gaps. Dean found it amusing.

"Kinda fun, huh?" Dean said absently, focusing on making his sanding strokes even.

"Not at all. My brothers and sisters, most of them are older then I am, and are very good shots. I constantly hold…held myself against their standards, trying to emulate them."

"…but?"

"I have terrible aim."

Dean snorted, not looking up. "Bad luck."

Castiel shrugged. "My Father said every person's worth is in what they are willing to commit to."

Dean decided to ask the obvious question. "So, not bows and arrows, then."

"No."

So much for asking the obvious question, Dean sighed to himself, and focused on sanding. The quiet hung between them comfortably, in a way Dean had not experienced with anybody since before Sammy started high school. It gave him a warm feeling in his gut, and he tried not to worry about it.

"My brother Raphael called me 'The Quiet One'. He said my value was in not in leading, but in giving support to leaders."

"Not everyone can lead the charge. Someone's got to follow," Dean said absently.

"But what, then, when you have no one to follow?" Castiel asked quietly, and looked down at his mug. Dean glanced up at him, frowning, but Castiel continued. "And what of the man who cares for others, but has no one left to care for?"

A chill went down Dean's back. "What'd you mean?"

"The photos in your living room. You parents? Your brother, I assume, the tall blond one."

"Yeah. Sam." Dean nodded curtly and concentrated on not taking his frustration out with sandpaper.

"It is only photos of the two of you…later."

Dean stopped and closed his eyes. "Yeah. Mother died when we were young; Dad died when I was sixteen. Sam was only ten. It was jus the two of us. I'm just lucky I was old enough for the courts to declare me independent. Dunno what would have happened if they tried to stick us in foster homes." In truth, Dean knew exactly what would have happened: he would have packed up the Impala and driven them out of town. He had it planned at the time, down to duffle bags full of clothes stashed in the trunk, ready to go.

"But he's…not here?" Castiel stated the obvious like it was a question.

"No. In California. Law school."

Castiel 'hmmmmed' thoughtfully and finished his coffee, looking into the empty cup as if it had betrayed him. "You miss him, of course."

Dean looked up, knowing his expression was hard but unable to change it. "Do you miss your brothers?" He asked accusingly.

A tragic look crossed Castiel's face, and Dean regretted the question. "Every day. Every single day, I listen for them, waiting to hear their voices in the other rooms of the garrison, or singing hymns. There was never a minute that I was not surrounded by my siblings, working with them, helping them. My life is so…quiet now." Castiel sounded like someone had kicked his favorite puppy, and Dean threw the sandpaper aside, because he knew exactly how miserable it felt to be in a room in an otherwise empty house, listening for a brother who was not there and whom he might never hear again.

"Enough of this shit. Let's fuck." He pulled Castiel over to a work bench and leaned him over it, yanking his pants down as he pressed a hand on his lower back. Castiel did not fight him, or help him, just braced his hands on the table and lowered his head. Dean pulled a condom out of his back pocket, glad that these jeans were last worn to go out to a bar, and held the small packet with his teeth while he grabbed the industrial-grade hand lotion. He lubed up his fingers, shoving them into Castiel, finger fucking him shallowly until Castiel was arched up, his eyes closed tight, begging to come with his hands scrabbling for purchase. Dean lifted his other hand off of Castiel's back and unbuttoned his own jeans, shoving them down his thighs awkwardly while keeping his fingers moving inside Castiel, who was keening in low, endless moans. He used his teeth to tear open the condom wrapper and somehow managed to slick the rubber over himself one-handed without dropping it onto the concrete floor. Dean finally stepped back, wiped his fingers on Castiel's shirt, grabbed his hips and shoved in. The force of it nearly lifted Castiel off the ground, and Dean stopped long enough to make sure he was not stroking directly into Castiel's hypersensitive prostate. Castiel remained loose, gasping in pleasure, and Dean finally started fucking into him hard and fast until they were both lathered like racehorses and grunting like pigs. They came, one right after the other, and the bright white nothing of orgasm hit Dean with the strength of a hammer to his skull. They stood plastered together, gasping, leaning over the workbench, both of them shaking, as Dean whispered promises and kindness into the back of Castiel's neck. When he finally stopped and pushed back a little to catch his breath, he realized that Castiel wasn't shaking, he was crying. Dean pulled him up into a hug and heard Castiel's quiet prayer through his tears, "thank you, thank you" over and over again. They stood there with their pants down, Cas crying for brothers lost and Dean holding them both together because he had nothing else to hold onto.

\-------------------

The call came that afternoon, right after Dean showed Castiel how perfect potato chips are on sandwiches. Castiel had been unimpressed with the resulting crunchy sandwiches, but smiled anyway, apparently just because Dean fixed him lunch. Dean's stomach fluttered whenever Castiel smiled at him, and he mentally berated himself for being a closeted fourteen year old girl. That was Sam's job, he thought, before remembering that he did not think about Sam anymore.

Castiel's cell phone rang, and he got up quietly to retrieve it from his coat pocket. The conversation took place just out of earshot in the living room, but Dean knew damn well what happened when Castiel came in and asked to be driven to his apartment later.

"Got a date?" Dean snapped. Castiel gave him a level glare.

"Don't start, Dean."

Dean ground his teeth and stood up, trying to put some distance between himself and Castiel. He leaned against the sink and folded his arms. "Don't do it."

"What?" Castiel looked up from his food, genuinely confused.

"Don't. Just say no."

"Dean, it's my job, my only job."

"You could drive cab."

"I don't even have a drivers license. And where would I live?"

"Here. With me." Dean stopped after he said it, shocked by the offer he had not intended to make. Castiel studied him with narrow eyes.

"Trading one keeper for another? No. I will not be your concubine."

Dean blinked at the word concubine, but decided not to argue it, instead going for the heart of the matter. "It doesn't have to be personal. I told you, you could drive cab. Getting a license is easy, I'll help you. Hell I'll show you the ropes. Drive cab, stay here. Sleep on the damn couch if you want."

Castiel set his fork down and gave Dean a very intense glare. "It is just another form of prostitution. And I would not make anywhere near the money I do now."

"You told me Zack pays for everything anyway."

"He does, but not because I can't afford it. I simply don't know how."

Dean blinked at him over from across the table. "What?"

"I told you, I have never had to take care of myself. I don't know how to drive, I don't know how to cook, I don't understand the paperwork my bank sends me. Our compound had its own electric generators. I have no idea where to pay my electric bill now."

"You…dude, it's not hard. OUC's main office is downtown. I'll take you."

Castiel shrugged. "Perhaps if I cared." He took a sip of his coffee.

"Man! I don't get you! You get thrown out because you want to be your own person but you don't really want to work for it."

Castiel lowered his coffee cup, his expression dark. "I assure you, I work for it. Or maybe you didn't notice?"

Dean's mouth went dry. "Don't even…don't do that, don't go there. That was us, okay? Not your job and not some nameless one night stand!"

Castiel had the grace to look ashamed. He focused on the window over the sink for a few moments before speaking again. "I make a lot of money. Zachariah is helping me save my funds, so that I may buy a house later, have what he calls a 'trust fund' to live off of. I would have my own life, modest perhaps, but free of anyone's constraints. Zachariah's a harsh taskmaster and he can be cruel at times, but in the end, as long as he gets what he wants, he is very fair. It is why I came to him when I was cast out. I am…not the first to seek him, in our family." Castiel was clearly choosing his words carefully. He turned slightly to focus his eyes on Dean. "Driving a taxi, sleeping on your couch…would this earn me my freedom?"

Dean ground his teeth, because he had never felt more like a prisoner of predestination than when he had started driving cab.

"I thought not. So let me go, let me earn my freedom." Castiel went back to staring out the window."

"Fine." Dean felt himself growl the word, and it seemed to startled Castiel.

"Dean…I don't mean that we can't see each other, that we cannot be lovers, I just…"

"No. Freedom's what you want, freedom's what you get. Go back on your knees to Zach and blow him, do whatever, I don't fucking care. Not as if I was a part of your plans anyway, right?"

Castiel looked shocked for a second, but rallied. "Dean, don't…"

"Shut up. You've got your plans, and I've got mine, and at least mine don't involve shoving my dick into any hand holding enough cash." Dean sneered, and he stood up, trembling. To have gotten so much of someone like Castiel, to live the kind of life he wanted for just two days, only for Castiel to go back to hooking and leave him behind to drive cab until he drove off the bridge into Lake Jessup and let the alligators eat him, was too much. Sam left him for a better life, and now Castiel was doing the same damn thing, and it was too much for Dean to live with without shouting. "I'm just the poor fuck who can't even pay the bills with the one skill I got, so I guess it would be a little much to ask you to give up your precious job as a _whore_ for my sake, right?"

Castiel looked horrified, and some part of Dean suspected that he had pushed this too far in the wrong direction, but he was too angry to stop. Which was how Sam had ended up walking out to never speak to him again, and if that was where this was going, Dean wanted it over in a hurry. "Just get out. Get the fuck out, get out."

"You're sending me away?"

The connection of that question to the phrase "cast out" didn't escape Dean, he heard it loud as a bell in Castiel's broken voice, but it didn't stop him, and he knew he was going to live with the regret of this mistake for the rest of his life. Just like with Sam, but part of Dean knew that it always ended like this for him. Alone. And a quick cut hurts less than a slow tear. "Don't pretend like you want to be here. Get the fuck OUT."

Castiel nodded and did not even ask for a lift, or to use the phone, or anything. He stood up and turned and walked out, leaving Dean to stare at the empty place where a someone he thought was his used to be.

\------------------

He expected never to hear from Castiel again. That's how these things worked, and why Dean was going to die alone like a crazy cat lady – and he hated cats – so he was completely unprepared for Castiel to request his cab at the Ritz a week later. It was on the edge of Dean's licensed territory, so it pulled him off stand at the park right before closing and Dean could tell dispatch to shove the call to someone closer. As an independent operator, not an employee, Dean had the right to do that, but he suspected he was a masochist at heart because he told Julie he would be there to pick up the fare.

He pulled in and Castiel was outside, in his trench coat and motionless as a statue, reminding Dean about what Castiel told him of his Father's militia training, how he had to learn to stand guard motionless for hours at a time no matter how bad the weather turned.

Castiel settled into the front seat without looking at him. "Home."

Dean nodded and turned the meter on, not even looking over at his passenger.

"I just hired you."

"Yeah." Dean gave Castiel a side look, because it was a very damn obvious thing to say, so Castiel was trying to make a point. Dean suspected he knew what it was, and did not want to hear it.

"Same as that man in suite 1604 hired me."

"Don't. Just, don't, okay?"

"You started it, Dean."

"Oh fuck, I don't need this." Dean sighed and leaned back into the seat. He took the busy trunk road of OBT straight up to the East-West Expressway, the most direct route by the map but also the one most likely to get them ensnared in traffic no matter what time of the day or night. Dean did not care, he needed the distraction of a lot of stop lights and tourists in rental cars to keep him from staring at Castiel.

"What do you need, then?"

"Peace and tranquility."

"I can give you that."

Dean snorted out a laugh because that was a stupid answer to give to a piece of flippant sarcasm, but somehow it was exactly the only thing Castiel would say.

"No, you can't."

"I can take care of you."

Dean thought about that for two stop lights before Castiel's suggestion registered, and then he started yelling. "Hell no! You did not just offer to have me as your kept man!"

"I did. Think about it, Dean. I have the money to support you. You have the knowledge of how to spend it. If I pay your bills you don't have to do this…" Castiel waved his hand around over the dash and the meter, his face a moue of distaste. "Wasting your life living in a car you don't even own. You can spend your time restoring antique cars. You can follow your calling."

"Instead, you just have to waste your life fucking for money. No."

"It was not long ago that you offered to 'keep' me, with nothing but your miserable income from this job, just so I would not have to 'spread my legs' for money."

"That was different. I was offering to help you out, get you on your feet without having to whore."

"But fucking you in exchange for rent, that's different." Castiel looked straight out the windshield, his face blank and guarded, which was good because Dean was a hairsbreadth from hitting him.

"You son of a bitch, you know it is."

"I fail to see how."

"Because I care about you!" Dean yelled, then snapped his mouth shut. "Fuck."

The silence dragged on for a while, which Dean did not mind as they passed the circus traffic that was the Florida Mall at closing. Finally Dean glanced over at Castiel, who was as focused on the traffic as Dean was.

"I told you, it didn't have to be personal. I thought you were under Zack's thumb and I wanted to help. Helping out is what I do, it's what I'm damn good at."

Castiel nodded. "Which is why your brother refuses to talk to you."

Dean clinched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "Maybe it's more I don't want to talk to him."

Castiel tilted his head towards him, his eyes narrow and accusing. "Doubtful."

"What the FUCK is the matter with you? Why are we doing this? We don't even know each other." Dean slammed back into the seat and gunned it when the light turned green eight cars in front of him. "This should have been an easy fuck," he mumbled, half hoping the Castiel didn't hear him.

"I never wanted that."

Dean laughed, the sound of it caustic even to his own ears. "You're the whore. Little ironic, don't you think?"

"You care for me. You said so."

"Yeah, fine! I care for you! Which is one reason why I'm not going to let you set me up as your little side project. You want out of the trade, I'll help you, but I'm not going to be one of the reasons you end up chained to it."

"Does my job bother you so much? It's just sex…"

"YES! _It bugs me!_ Okay? I don't share well. Hell, I don't share, at all. That's why I stick to fucking people I don't even know, because I don't end up having conversations like this!" Dean was yelling at the top of his lungs as he threaded through traffic.

"Why can't I have my freedom? Why can't I have one part of my life that belongs to ME?" Castiel yelled back, shocking Dean into silence. They both stared out the windshield all the way up to the I-4 overpass. Finally Dean sighed, feeling utterly defeated.

"I don't really see how doing what you do equals freedom, Cas."

"It doesn't. I'm not stupid, Dean." Castiel agreed softly, the world-weary tone back in his voice. "But for my father I was expected to give up my life for the sake of the vision of a mad-man, with nothing in return but a weak promise of after-death salvation, and then only if I never rebelled with a thought or need of my own. Here I give up a few short years of humiliation and physical discomfort in exchange for the ability to live the rest of my life completely free of all restraints. It seems an easy choice to make, even now."

Dean tried not to grind his teeth. "Is fucking the boss just a perk?"

Castiel frowned. "What?"

"Zack. Doing him on the side, that's just a perk?"

"As incestuous as my family appears to outsiders, I truly draw the line at having sex with my brother."

Dean hit the brakes too hard as they came up to the next stoplight. "BROTHER?"

"Yes. He was driven out years ago by my father for his power hungry machinations, but we all know how to find him. We all know to seek him out when there is no where to turn."

"You BROTHER is your pimp?"

"You seem stuck on this idea."

"Just a little! Jesus. I don't…fuck, I just don't know anything about you."

"Clearly."

The ride was quiet back to Castiel's townhouse, and this time Dean drove through the well manicured drive directly to where Castiel lived. He parked the cab and they sat in it, unmoving. Castiel finally gave Dean a long, measured look and then got out, walking to his front door without looking back. Dean hit the steering wheel before following him.

The inside of the apartment was muted but stylish in sparse, masculine way. Everything looked new and barely used, as if it was a furniture showroom, and Dean suspected it had been furnished by Zack. Castiel removed his trench coat and jacket, laying them carefully over the back of a wide, deep, upholstered couch. He still never looked at Dean, who stood just out of the foyer with his hands in his pockets. He felt uncomfortable staring at Castiel, who was acting like he wasn't there, and he considered the idea of just turning around and leaving. Then he noticed that Castiel was still undressing, toeing his shoes off as he unbuttoned his shirt and stripped out of it, pulling his undershirt up over his head, every move slow and measured.

It was nothing Dean had not seen before, but it was different this time, as if Castiel was on display, or showing off.

Or performing.

"Stop it," Dean snarled.

Finally Castiel raised his eyes to meet Dean's, although they were shadowed by the low lighting in the living room. "But isn't this what you want? Meaningless sex? An 'easy fuck'?" His voice was low and raw.

Dean shook his head. "No, just no. Stop it."

Castiel leaned backwards, trailing a hand over his chest slowly, languidly dragging his fingers over his skin down to his belt buckle.

"Cas, I'm begging you, don't do this."

Castiel raised his eyebrows, then shrugged and started unbuckling. Dean could see that he was semi-hard in his trousers, and Castiel's hand unerringly followed Dean's gaze to cup himself like a street walker outside the P-House. Dean felt his arousal pulsing through his blood, and he knew where this was going, and he hated himself for not stopping it. Castiel was right though, this is exactly what he said he wanted, something simple and easy and fun and…meaningless.

He walked across the room and grabbed both of Castiel's hands by the wrists, holding them out to his sides. "NO."

Castiel froze, but his expression was angry and rebellious. He stepped even closer into Dean's personal space. "Do you even know what you want?" Castiel words were hissed, his nose flaring.

"Yeah, I damn sure do. I want everything I can't have." Dean closed the space between them and kissed him, full of harsh teeth and bites. He did not let go of Castiel's wrists, but Castiel was not fighting him either, obediently giving his mouth over to Dean without question. "Damnit, stop, please…Cas…that's not _you_…" He moved to kiss over Castiel's jaw.

"How would you even know?" Castiel closed his eyes and lifted his chin, exposing his neck.

"Give me a chance to find out." Dean bent his head to suck on the pulse point on Castiel's neck, earning him a small gasp.

"Dean." Castiel moved at last, pulling his arms out of Dean's grasp and raising them to wrap around his waist. Dean pushed forward, and they landed on the huge sofa almost side by side. Dean leaned up over Castiel and kissed him before he could say anything, forcing his tongue into Castiel's mouth, forcing his way _in_ to something real. Dean was still completely dressed, including his leather jacket and shoes, but Castiel curled up against him as if they were both naked and finally started kissing back. They had shared enough kisses to make this one somewhat anti-climactic, but Dean was trying to make a point, not score points on finesse. Finally Castiel shoved him away, gasping for air. Dean sat back on his heels, straddling Castiel, and began stripping off his clothes. Castiel did not follow, he laid under him gazing up in stony silence, not even trying to help.

"I do not understand you."

Dean focused on unbuttoning his shirt and said nothing, because if he started, he would end up yelling.

"You hate what I do, what I am…yet you want to own me as they all do, as everyone does. Why are you still here?"

Dean ripped off his shirt and tee shirt and started unbuckling his belt.

"You can't even afford me." Castiel turned his head to look off at a wall like he was so damn good at doing, and Dean finally broke. He grabbed Castiel's chin and forced him to look at him.

"Doesn't matter what you charge, I'm not paying. I'm not here to take possession, okay? Yeah I hate what you do, and I don't like sharing. I'm a jealous mutherfucker and you need to remember that. But I'm not buying; I'm selling."

Castiel frowned as Dean got up to take off his boots and jeans. He bit his lip then shook his head. "Selling?"

"Yeah. One time special, deep discount. You get me, for as long as you want me, however you want me. When we're done, if that's all you want, kick my ass out."

"That was never all I wanted," Castiel said quietly, unable to keep his eyes from roaming as Dean dropped his jeans and stepped out of them.

"Well that's the thing, you know? You break, you buy. What you do after that is up to you. You can trash me to the curb, or…" Dean stood up, completely naked, his arms out at his sides. "Or you can…you know, keep me." Dean winced at his dumb delivery, but Castiel rolled up off the couch like a jungle cat and literally stalked over to him. He stood there, nose to nose, scrutinizing him in the same way he did that night outside of IHOP.

"Did I break you, Dean?"

Dean swallowed nervously, but refused to run. "Yeah. You did."

Castiel nodded and placed his hand on Dean's chest. "Does that make you mine?"

Dean nodded, Castiel's gentle touch zinging through his skin to his blood, making his heart hammer in his chest and his cock start to swell. Castiel leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I want you."

Dean nodded again. "Any way you want me, Cas. I'm…" Dean stalled for a moment, his brain kicking in. "Oh."

Castiel nodded back at him, never moving his hand.

Dean closed his eyes, lust finally taking over. He felt his erection pull tight, his dick sticking straight out from him, and he tried not to thrust forward. "Fuck me. Do it. _Fuck me_." Castiel didn't move and Dean opened his eyes after a few moments. "You want an engraved invitation? Damnit, Cas, I'm _yours_."

Dean tripped when Castiel threw him towards a doorway, and barely had his feet under him when he was bodily shoved into the bedroom. He stumbled forward in surprise, arms out, ready to bail if Castiel pushed him again. Instead Castiel walked right into his back, and Dean felt Cas crouching down as if he was going to pick up something off the floor. Instead he wrapped his arms around Dean's waist, stood, and _picked him up_ like he weighed nothing. Completely thrown off his guard, Dean grabbed at Castiel's arms, which were like bands of steel around him, trying to steady himself as he was carried to the bed. Castiel walked into it, like he had been going in a straight line from the door and Dean just happened to be in his way, and fell forward, pining Dean under him with a muffled "umph." Dean twisted his head to get his face out of the bedspread, and barely had time to suck in a breath before Castiel yanked him backwards by his legs.

"Hey! What the…" Dean pushed up on one arm, hanging half off the bed face down, and watched Castiel grab a large pillow and throw it to the ground. Then he put his hand on Dean's lower back, shoved a knee into the back of Dean's knee, and pushed. Dean had no choice but to crumple, and ended up kneeling over the mattress, his knees on the pillow, as if he was praying in at church. The brief look Dean got of Castiel's expression explained why he wasn't talking; he looked possessed, almost frenzied, and Dean wondered what he was in for. Hard and fast was good for him, usually, but it really had been a long time since he got it up the ass and he not looking forward to it, the way things were going.

Castiel stripped off his pants and pulled out lube and several condoms from a dresser drawer, dropping them to the ground next to Dean's calves before kneeling, naked and quiet, between Dean's legs.

"Cas…"

"I rejoice and delight in thee;   
I praise thy love more than wine…"*

Dean crossed his arms in front of himself, propping up on his elbows, and tilted his head back to watch Castiel out of the corner of his eye. Castiel's manic fervor had dropped away when he got on his knees behind Dean, and he was stroking Dean's back in slow, smooth, heavy motions.

"Weird, Cas. The Bible thing – weird."

"Shhhh." Castiel ran his hands down over Dean's ass, massaging it slowly. Dean let his head drop and closed his eyes, grateful that Castiel had slowed things down a bit. Castiel's thumbs ran over his butt crack, and Dean let slip a small groan. The languid massage of his back and ass continued until his hard on was completely gone and Dean felt the weight of sleep pressing on his eyes.

"You sent me away," Castiel whispered, still stroking and kneading.

"Yeah. I did." Dean murmured.

"I should send you away."

"You won't."

He felt Castiel shifting on his knees behind him, and a kiss on his spine. "I can't."

The kiss went from soft and loving to a hard suck, and as Dean registered the pain of the hickey being affixed to his spine, a finger dropped down his crack and slipped into his ass. Dean gasped and shook his head. "Fuck, Cas, easy…it's been a…"

"You sent me away, but I found you. I will always find you, Dean." Castiel whispered up Dean's spine, and it was a bit creepy and stalkerish, but also true, and Dean squeezed his eyes more tightly closed and nodded as Castiel kept talking. "I will always need you."

Dean groaned, a deep chest rattling noise he did not even know was inside of him. Dean wondered, as another finger shoved in next, about when "being needed" became some kinky fetish of his. Didn't matter, he thought, but it was true: Castiel needing him, needing to have Dean give him this, was one of the hottest turn ons Dean has ever experienced. The few times he had bottomed really felt like being on the bottom, being used and wrung out, desperation flavored with competition. It had been intense each time and Dean's body craved the sensation but not the battle of wills that always went with it, with the couple of men Dean thought were tough enough to _earn_ the right to top Dean Winchester. This was nothing like that. This was Dean leading Castiel to safety, Dean being needed by someone who was determined to follow him anywhere and never let him go. Dean whimpered at the thought as much as at the third finger pushed into him, shoving past the knotted ring of muscle that was _not used to this_ and giving way reluctantly. Dean took a deep breath and Castiel slowly pushed his fingers in and out, using his free hand to stroke and pet Dean's back and shoulders. Dean exhaled and pushed his hips back a little.

"Dean…" Castiel moaned his name, and pulled his fingers out. Dean felt Castiel's thighs pushing his legs further apart, sinking him down lower, and he flattened his chest to the mattress, balling up the bed spread in his hands.

"C'mon, Cas. Take it. Take what's yours." Dean grunted as Castiel kept manhandling him into position, his touch sure and impossibly strong. Then he felt the nudge that was Castiel's cock pushing against him, trying to push in. Dean took another deep breath and pushed back, and Castiel grabbed his shoulder to steady them both. Dean figured Castiel's other hand was lining him up, getting ready for the big push, and even as he thought that he felt it happen, the quick snap of Castiel's hips as he drove his cock head inside of Dean. It was too much and so desperately too little, and Dean panted for a few moments, realizing that Castiel was frozen in place. Right before Dean started to complain, Castiel began rocking his hips, pushing in relentlessly with every small stroke, and there was no pause between "not there" and "there", it was just Castiel burying himself inside of Dean completely. Dean was not even sure how they got to the point where Castiel's balls were slapping against his ass, Castiel's hands tight and solid on his hips as stroked methodically in and out of Dean. Dean pushed himself down even further, and he would have slid of the bed completely if Castiel wasn't anchoring him in place, holding him steady.

Castiel came to a rocking stop, running his hands up and down Dean's flank. "Is this what you want, Dean?"

"Fuck yeah, hell yeah. You're what I want. I'm yours, Cas, c'mon, fuck me!"

Castiel shifted up, spreading his knees and pushing Dean up further on the mattress, forcing his ass higher in the air to the point he had barely any weight on his knees because he was plastered up against and on the bed. Castiel leaned over Dean's back, holding himself up with one hand on the mattress. When he thrust back into Dean, the angle was perfect and Dean felt the splash of arousal in his bloodstream when Castiel nailed his prostate. He yelled out and arched up, and it was a signal to Castiel, who lurched up off his knees, holding himself on his toes, his thighs quivering, as he fucked into Dean like a jackhammer. His hands moved to lock on Dean's upper arms, holding him down and pressing him into the bed, and Dean felt himself give out short bursts of yelling each time Castiel slammed home.

Dean knew what was next, because he never needed a reach around when getting fucked, he was going to come like a rocket just from Castiel's full-body slams into his ass. Everything blurred, sights and sounds and sensations; his vision was gone and all he could see were colors, reflections of the light around them. The whole room was filled with the sounds they were making, brutal lovers' noises, grunts and moans and gasps of pleasure. Dean could not even imagine how Castiel was holding himself up on his hands and toes, leveraging into Dean with that much force, but he was, and in the next moment Dean was coming.

"Cas!" It was all he could get out before his body stuttered and shook, his dick spitting out all over the side of the bed. As the waves of blind pleasure buffeted his body, he felt Castiel fall back to his knees, pulling Dean down and impaling him hard on his cock. A high-pitched gasp was all Dean got for Castiel's orgasm, but it was enough, because he could hear Castiel panting for breath and could feel Castiel's claw-like grip on his hips. Castiel's cock pulsed and pumped inside of Dean, obscene and beautiful, and Dean stared into space with open eyes, letting himself ride out the aftermath.

About the time Dean finally managed to get a full lungful of air in, Castiel was rising to stand on shaky legs. Dean just laid there, leaning against the bed, lube seeping out of him and down his thighs. He watched Castiel go into the bathroom and throw away the condom and wet down a towel, then stumble back into the room, turning off the lights as he went. He cleaned Dean up in a perfunctory, practiced way which Dean refused to think about, then grabbed his arms and pulled him up onto the bed. They fumbled their way under the sheets, at which point Castiel seemed to freeze up, half on his side, not looking at Dean. In the darkened room, it was hard to read his face, but there seemed a confused uncertainty there.

"Would you like to…I can…" Castiel waved a hand between them, obviously implying that he was willing to give Dean his space if he wanted.

"Nah. C'mon." Dean pulled Castiel too him, and he heard him let out a long, pleased sigh. "That's what you wanted, you could just ask."

"I want you to be happy, that is all."

"You think I'm going to be happy with you sleeping anywhere but right here?" Dean asked, squeezing Castiel close to him. It felt so damn good, Dean did not think he could let go even if Castiel asked him to. Which he hoped Castiel never would.

"My beloved is mine, and I am his;  
he feedeth among the lilies,"** Castiel sighed deeply, and fell asleep.

\----------------

Dean shifted and woke up, feeling the bed dip. Castiel was crawling back under the sheets, probably having made a toilet run. The clock next to the bed said 5:30am, and Dean briefly considered "round 2" before Castiel collapsed in a heap against him. Dean smiled smugly and decided he could let Castiel recharge his batteries for a few more hours. He wrapped his arm around Castiel and drew him closer in drowsy satisfaction, his mind starting to drift lazily back into slumber.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice was as soft as the faded morning light.

"Yeah?"

"What if we were to…go into business together?"

Dean's whole body woke up in a flash as his temper flared, his first thought being that he would rather die than be Castiel's pimp, but he held his tongue. "What are you talking about?"

"I have a lot of money already saved. I could, perhaps, buy us a business location." Castiel shuffled closer, as if seeking reassurance.

"…Location?" Dean frowned, lost.

"For a garage. A business."

Dean's breath caught. "Dude, I can't ask…"

"You're not. We would be partners. I have already taken my GED, and plan on enrolling in business classes at SCC. You could work on cars, and I would run the business."

"You enrolled at Seminole Community College?"

"Zach can be helpful, at times."

"He won't mind you pulling out of his stable?"

"I'm not a horse."

"I _mean_…."

"I can leave any time I like. As long as he is repaid his initial stake, he doesn't care. He's already earned enough profit, in any case."

"How much is this stake?"

Castiel delayed answering. "A lot."

"Damn."

"But it was put aside first. I met it my first year working for him. The rest – all the rest of it – is mine."

"You were going to buy a house, set up a trust fund. Never be tied to anything or anyone. Freedom, remember?"

Castiel was quiet for a while before answering. "I am willing to compromise."

Dean laughed. He couldn't believe he was asking this question. "Okay, so you really have enough to buy a garage?"

"If an affordable location could be found, we would have enough left over for capital for the business itself, I think."

Dean grinned gave Castiel a breath-stealing squeeze. "Oh, I think I have just the location in mind. Partner."

Even Dean had to admit that their next kiss was _epic_.

_*Paraphrased from Song of Solomon, Chapter 1  
**Paraphrased from Song of Solomon, Chapter 2_

\-----------------

**Epilogue, Two and a Half Years Later**

Dean stood in the middle of the garage with his hands on his hips. There was a '56 Chevy on the rack, and in the other bay the start of a total restoration of a '66 MG. It had been almost two years of long nights and sometimes impossible jobs for incredibly finicky collectors, but the shop had started turning a profit at eight months in, far ahead of projections. Castiel's shiny new business AA degree from Seminole Community College had taught him more about bookkeeping than Dean had learned in ten years working as Don's lacky, and Dean was fine with that. Instead, he worked the network of collectors from Don's old files and (surprisingly) the contacts that Zachariah had given them of his own car collecting buddies. While Stairway to Heaven Restorations was still a new name on the scene, Dean's work was already getting serious attention on the circuit. Things were going good and they were making money, which Dean realized they would need as he watched the family reunion in front of him.

It was a similar scene to one they had six months earlier, when a strange looking boy named Jesse showed up out of nowhere asking for "asylum", and Castiel had fallen to his knees embracing the boy. It was one of Castiel's youngest brothers, only ten years old, who claimed to be one of the "Fallen". He had tripped down from Nebraska all by himself and refused to admit how he did it, saying only that he had heard from somewhere in the family tree that Castiel would offer safe haven to him. Dean suspected that the boy would not be the last member of Castiel's family to show up on their steps, and he was right. He was looking at another one right then, a beautiful young girl named Anna whom Castiel seemed unable to let go of.

"So you're another one of the Fallen, huh?" Dean asked. Anna nodded, wide eyed and clutching at Castiel's hand. Castiel looked at him with pleading eyes. "Oh fine, fine, go get her something to eat." He waved them on, and later Castiel came out of the office to talk to him.

"She was the one who got me to Zachariah, when I first left the garrison. She helped me a great deal, I owe her a debt of gratitude."

"She's one of Zack's, huh? So why is she here?"

"She was assaulted by one of her customers. Zack refused to do anything about it. She has always been more willful than I am, and has not been as fortunate in making much money." Castiel sighed, as if this was about what could be expected of Anna.

"Did she at least get him his stake money? I don't want him harassing us about that, I'd have to hit him or something."

"Not that I would be ungrateful for you hitting him, repeatedly, but yes, she had enough to pay him off with a little left over. I'm discovering that many of his people are not as frugal with their earnings as I was, it is most perplexing."

Dean rolled his eyes, as "perplexing" was Castiel's stock word for "the world is a strange place and I will never understand you so-called normal people".

"Cas, what do you think we're going to do with her? I mean she's got fewer skills than you did…"

Castiel shook his head, with a look of excitement on his face that worried Dean. "Her needlework is extraordinary, Dean, it was the finest in the garrison. She has amazing hands, surely you can teach her…"

"What?" Dean squawked, but pulled back at Castiel's crestfallen expression. "Okay, sure, sure. Maybe we can train her up on the interior detail work. But dude, if this keeps up, we're going to need a bigger house, you know that, right?"

Castiel beamed at him, practically glowing, and Dean's stomach flopped, because Castiel only gave him that unguarded expression of joy in two types of situations, and right now they were not having sex. Dean suspected he just signed up for something before reading the fine print. He cleared his throat.

"Tell me something: how many brothers and sisters do you have? How old is your father?"

"We say that Father is as old as dirt, but I think his progeny has far more to do with his 18 wives. I have dozens of siblings."

Dean winced. "Jesus."

Castiel nodded, then fidgeted. "Ah, it seems today is an auspicious day."

Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion at the non-sequitur. "Cas, what did you do?"

"Well, Anna finding me, of course. Very good news." He looked off to the side, as if the wall was very interesting.

"Yeah, and Jesse's got good grades in school and stopped randomly disappearing for days at a time, yada yada yada. What's up?" Dean put down his tools and stared at Castiel, who glanced at the clock.

"Just, perhaps, we should think of this as a special day. A day of…coming together." He twisted his hands.

"Cassssss…"

A cab pulled up into the drive lot, and Dean recognized it as Bobby's van. "You invited Bobby for lunch? That makes this day auspicious? Dude, we see him every Sunday. Like he would miss your pancakes? …What's he doing here?" Castiel had started looking even more nervous as Dean kept talking.

"Dean, please, I just ask you to remember that I only have your best interests at heart…"

Bobby remained in the van as the back door opened and a tall man unfolded out of the back seat. He stood with the door open, staring at Dean.

"Sam?" Dean whispered.

Sam cocked his head like a puppy, the same way he had since he was a baby in Dean's arms, looking at him with his eyes wide in uncertainty. That did it for Dean, who walked out of the garage and stomped over to his giant little brother and pulled him down into a fierce hug. Sam squeaked a little, then huffed.

"Cas called, he asked me to come…I wasn't sure you'd want to see me…"

"Shut up, Sammy. I'm having a moment."

#


End file.
